


A New Ordinary

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Artist Harry Potter, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Mpreg, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Pregnancy, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Pregnant Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vomiting, Writer Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: Prompt: Harry and Draco are friends who live and work together. When Draco finds out he's pregnant, Harry wants to help.When Draco finds out he's pregnant, he never expects it to turn out like this.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 48
Kudos: 686
Collections: HD Mpreg 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to L and L for being amazing alphas with all the answers to my millions of questions, and to the most wonderful betas, E and S! I couldn't have done this without any of you! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended

"I'm what?" Draco asked, gobsmacked. 

He sat on the white cloth that covered the leather of the examination table in a private room at St. Mungo's. He'd scheduled an appointment after two days of vomiting and stomach cramps, sure he'd ingested some kind of poison. That appeared not to be the case. 

"Pregnant, Mr Malfoy," the healer repeated, her expression sympathetic. "It's not unheard of, especially in pureblood wizards, though it is a rare occurrence. I'd like to refer you to our specialist so he can monitor your condition closely, should you decide to keep the baby."

Should he decide to… He jerked upright, immediately incensed. "I'm not terminating this pregnancy," he bit out. His mother would kill him if he tried. 

"Okay," she smiled, tapping his chart. "Then I'll get your information sent to Dr McCrae’s office, and they should contact you to schedule an appointment. I've written a prescription for anti-nausea potions; you can pick them up at any apothecary. Do you have any questions?”

Draco blinked up at her. He had a million questions, but he imagined the specialist would be more qualified to answer them, so he shook his head. 

The healer nodded, a sympathetic smile pasted on her face. "Then you're free to go. Good luck, Mr Malfoy." With that, she swept out of the examination room, leaving Draco to absorb the information. 

Pregnant. How could he be pregnant? Well, of course he knew how, but… Well, fuck.

Gathering his cloak, he left the sterile room and headed for the floo bank. He needed to get back to his studio; Harry would be popping in for tea at any moment. He knew Harry would have questions when he found out and Draco had no idea how to answer them. So he wouldn't find out, not until Draco was ready. 

When he arrived, he hurried into his studio and shut the door swiftly behind him. Gods, how could he be so stupid? A simple one-off at the club wasn’t supposed to turn his life upside down. 

Well, he wouldn't let it. Regardless of cramps and nausea, he would handle it. By the end of the day, he’d vomited five times more, but he’d managed to write another chapter. He could handle this.


	2. Chapter 1

Satisfied with the castle, Harry lowered his brush and cast a wandless tempus, then cringed. He’d missed lunch again. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; when the mood struck him, he could go days only eating when his stomach screamed at him. Draco was the same, he knew. What Harry did with paint and canvas, Draco accomplished with words. Whole worlds flew from his fingertips and, sometimes, Harry envied that ability. 

But not today. Today, Hogwarts looked just as he remembered it, the grounds vast and sloping, the turrets shadowy and mysterious. The enormous canvas was far from filled, but it would be. McGonagall had requested a piece to hang in the Great Hall, and Harry was determined it would be his best.

For now, though, he needed tea. There might even be leftovers in the break room, if he was lucky. The small building he shared with Hermione and Draco was quiet, as it usually was. There was a separate entrance for Hermione’s clients, leaving the back of the space free for Harry and Draco to mould to their needs. Draco didn't require much, just an office large enough for his vast library of reference books and the modern muggle technology he preferred when writing. Harry, on the other hand, had taken many magical liberties with the available space to create an enormous studio with plenty of room for his props and models, storage space for his finished work, and lots of natural lighting. 

On his way through the lobby between their work spaces, he stopped to knock quietly on Draco’s door, hoping to invite him to join him for a cuppa. He almost couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken, and he was beginning to worry. It should be impossible to live with someone and not see them for weeks. He was just as prone as Harry to losing himself in his work, of course, but he usually surfaced every few days. Harry decided he’d give him a bit more time and headed on his way.

But, as his tea was brewing, a disturbing sound echoed through the room. The distinct sound of someone sicking up. Harry had spoken to Hermione that morning and knew her to be in perfect health, so that left Draco. The toilet off the break room wasn’t open to Hermione’s clients. Sighing, Harry returned to his task, pulling out another mug and to brew a second cup, camomile this time. It sounded like Draco could use it. When he swung back by the office, Draco’s agent was slipping out and closing the door behind her.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, sounding mildly startled. “I was just coming to see you. Draco asked me to bring you this.” She held out an envelope and Harry lifted his hands to indicate they were full.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. Could you give me a moment? I came by to bring Draco some tea.” He made to sidestep her, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“He’s, ah, asked not to be disturbed,” she stammered. “I could—”

Harry frowned. “I’m not disturbing him. I’m bringing him a bloody cuppa. Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know wha—”

She was interrupted when the door flew open and Draco raced from his studio. He was white as a sheet, his hair a stringy cloud about his face and his robes disheveled. He held one hand over his mouth, the other arm clutching his stomach. His overbright eyes flicked wildly between them before he took off down the corridor and into the toilet.

“Draco!” Harry called. 

"I'm sorry," Rachel said, wringing her hands. "He asked me not to say anything."

Harry glared at her, then shoved the mugs into her hands to chase after him, only slowing when he reached the loo. “Draco,” he called again, then bit his tongue. He wouldn’t be able to answer for a moment. Harry could wait.

When the sound of retching stopped, he knocked on the stall door. 

“Go away, Potter,” Draco croaked, and Harry took that as his cue to push it open. 

“What’s wrong, Draco?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in weeks and suddenly you're dying?”

"Don't be," Draco began, then groaned as he stumbled out of the stall. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not dying."

"You could have fooled me," Harry argued, taking his arm and leading him to the small sofa against the only open wall. "Sit down before you fall down."

"I'm fine, Potter!" But he sat, slumping forward a little. 

"Is this why you've been avoiding me?" 

Draco nodded, then groaned again. "You have a history. I don't need a mother hen."

"No, you need to be at home, resting. Why would you come to the office ill? What if it's contagious?" 

Draco scoffed. "It's not like I interact with anyone." But he sighed when Harry glared. "It's not contagious. I'm fine, I promise. This is no reason to stop working. And you have no say in the matter."

"The hell, I don't!" 

"The hell, you do!" he countered, surging to his feet. "This is my problem and I'll— I'll deal—" 

"Draco!" Harry reached out just in time to catch him as he pitched forward, unconscious. 

-

Draco woke slowly, his mind fogged around the edges and his entire body aching. He groaned and opened his eyes hesitantly. He was in a small bed, surrounded by a white curtain, and the smell of antiseptic solutions assailed his nostrils. And he was  _ cold _ . 

He tried to lift himself into a sitting position, only to be stopped by a hand on his chest. "Don't move, Draco," Harry said. 

"Why's it so cold?" Draco mumbled. 

"I don't know. Wait, I'll see if I can get you a blanket."

The hand disappeared and Draco tried to sit again, pulling himself up carefully. There was an IV feeding something into his arm and lavender light pulsed gently over his chest. He shook his head to clear it. He was in St. Mungo's, that much was clear. But how did he get there? 

"For fuck's sake, Draco, I told you not to move," Harry griped. "Lie back, they're bringing a blanket.” 

Draco frowned, ready to argue when a nurse pulled back the curtain, a lime green blanket folded over one arm. 

"Well good morning!" the nurse chirped. "You gave us quite a scare, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter says you're feeling cold. That'll be the IV. We'll get you sorted."

A discreet knock sounded as she flicked the blanket into place over Draco and a large man with salt and pepper hair peeked around the curtain. 

"Mr Malfoy?" he asked, reaching out to take Draco's hand. "My name is Leonard McCrae; we weren’t scheduled to meet for another week,” he chuckled. “How are you feeling?" 

"I feel better than I did," he replied, ready to have this done with. "The cramps have gone, for now."

“What’s wrong with him?” Harry asked, and Draco cringed.

“Well, he was dehydrated when you brought him in,” Healer McCrae replied distractedly as he ran diagnostics over Draco. “We've given you fluids, but you'll need to drink plenty of water.”

"Is that why he's been throwing up?" 

Healer McCrae looked thoughtful. "No, that's likely the cause of his dehydration, rather than a symptom. Morning sickness is common in the first trimester, though I'm concerned it's led to this level of dehydration."

"Morning sickness?" Harry asked, clearly confused. Draco tried to ignore him. He didn't have time just then to worry about Harry's reaction. 

Conjuring a stool, the healer sat so he was face to face with Draco. "I'm going to recommend bed rest until our appointment, and lots of fluids. Be sure you keep that appointment, now. You and the baby are fine for now, but we'll want to follow up.” 

“Baby?” Harry breathed and sat down heavily.

“Thank you, healer,” Draco murmured. Harry tried to catch his eye, but he turned away. He’d have to answer his friend’s questions, of course, but not yet. They could wait until he was out of a hospital bed.

-

"I'm sorry," Draco said from the corridor just outside their little kitchen. 

Harry didn't turn. Tea could fix anything, so he’d decided he would start there. He didn’t know how he could help Draco, but he could damn well make tea. 

“Harry? I said I’m sorry.”

“I heard you, Draco.”

“You’re angry. I know you want to help, I just—”

“I’m not angry.” Now he did turn, holding out Draco’s favourite mug, the stripy rainbow one. “I’m worried. Pregnancy is a big deal for women; I don’t imagine it’s exactly easy when you don’t have a womb.”

Draco sighed and stepped forward to accept the mug. “That’s the thing. I do have a womb, now. I’m far enough along that it’s already developed.” He slid into a chair at the table and wrapped both hands around his mug, a look of resignation on his drawn face. “Okay, I'm ready. You can ask your questions.”

Studying him, Harry leaned one hip against the worktop, sipped his tea. “How long have you known?” he asked, and Draco looked up, surprised. That wasn't what he'd expected; good. 

“A couple of weeks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” He knew he wasn't entitled to the information, but it felt like a personal slight that Draco hadn't trusted him with this. 

“I was working up to it. I made a mistake, Harry. I was embarrassed." Swiping at a tear, Draco cleared his throat. "Aren’t you going to ask how a bloke could get pregnant?”

Harry smirked, shook his head. “I’ve learned to accept a lot of things since I discovered I was a wizard, Draco. It’s not that difficult to understand that magic can change our anatomy to allow for childbirth. At the moment, I’m more concerned with what you plan on doing about it.”

“There’s not much I can do,” he sighed. “I still have time to terminate the pregnancy, but the very idea makes me sick.” He shuddered, glanced warily at Harry.

“Then you should keep it.”

Draco nodded. “That appears to be my only option."

"There's always adoption," Harry said matter-of-factly, trying not to think about the idea too hard. 

"Father would break out of Azkaban to murder me if I put a Malfoy heir up for adoption, even a half-blood.”

"Half-blood?" he asked, incredulously. "It was a muggle? Shit, Draco. There's no way you can tell him without exposing magic."

"Don't you think I know that? It doesn't even matter; I have no idea who it was."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. Draco's… proclivities were no secret, but it always baffled him that his friend could share himself so freely. 

"I know what you're thinking, Harry." Draco's shoulders hunched defensively and he pushed at the hair falling in his face. "But I couldn't have anticipated this. I didn't  _ want _ to do this on my own. I wanted my children to have two parents."

Harry kicked himself. They were friends and Draco needed help. That was all that mattered. "Of course. I know that. You aren't alone in this. Have you told Narcissa yet?" 

Draco scrubbed his hands over his face, groaning. "No. Fuck."

"You should probably do that."

“I know.”

“It won’t be so bad, I’ll go with you.”

“She’ll ask me to move back into the Manor.” He sighed and something twisted uncomfortably in Harry’s stomach. “Gods, why must everyone insist that I need help? I can handle this.”

“You fucking  _ fainted  _ from dehydration, Draco!” Harry snarled, snapping his mug onto the worktop and stalking to the table to tower over him. “You damn well  _ do  _ need help, and you’re going to accept it.”

“Harry, I—”

“No arguments, Malfoy. If it means moving back to the Manor, so be it. If it means you don't write for this entire pregnancy, that’s what you’ll do.”

“I’m not giving up writing, Harry!” Draco cried. “I’m halfway through this manuscript! I have a deadline, you know!”

“Draco,” Harry sighed. “You just scared ten years off me. I only want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” he promised, then smirked. “Writing isn’t that taxing. And I am not going back to the Manor.”

Harry held up his hands in defeat. Draco was stubborn, he knew. There was nothing he could say to convince him, so he’d just have to keep an eye on him, himself.

-

“Pansy!” Draco cried, stepping through the flames into her sitting room. “Pansy, I need you!”

“Merlin, Draco, stop being so dramatic,” she said, sailing into the room with a glass of wine in one hand and a glossy magazine in the other. She wore a silk nightdress open over a set of matching pyjamas and her hair was mussed, as if she’d been lying in bed moment’s before. 

She probably had, he mused. It was nearly midnight and, although she was no stranger to nightlife, she did have a gallery to run. Harry had a show coming up and Pansy always insisted upon every detail. 

“You don’t understand,” Draco whined, well aware of the accuracy of her accusation. “He knows, Pansy!”

She raised an eyebrow and sipped her wine, waiting for him to elaborate. “Who knows what, darling? Do elaborate.” 

Draco threw himself to the sofa opposite the fireplace and groaned. “Harry knows about the baby,” he said, glaring up at her. 

“Oh. Oh, Draco, I told you to tell him.” Setting her wineglass and the magazine on one little end table, she sat at his side, draping him in an awkward embrace. “How did he find out? Was he upset?”

“He thinks I’m a slut,” Draco mumbled, burying his face in one of her satiny throw pillows.

Pansy gasped. “Did he say that?” she demanded. “I’ll kill him.”

“Of course he didn’t, Pans. He’s too noble for that. But I know he’s thinking it. How could he think anything else?”

“Draco, we’ve talked about this. You’ve been friends with Potter and his gang since eighth year; you have to stop assuming they think so little of you.”

“No, I don’t,” he insisted petulantly. “I am a slut.”

Pansy sighed. “Only when I’m cross with you,” she conceded, petting his hair indulgently. “What did he say?” 

“He was upset I didn’t tell him sooner, and he wants me to quit writing.”

“Well, that’s unreasonable. Hermione didn’t quit working when she was pregnant.” Draco flinched and Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

“It’s nothing, really,” he insisted, sitting up and turning to face her. “I just fainted. Harry overreacted and took me to St. Mungo’s.”

“Draco!” she cried. “You’re supposed to lead with something like that! You’re okay? What did the healers say?”

“I’m fine! I was just a little dehydrated. I’m fine.” But she was still looking at him with a hint of the terror he’d felt at the hospital and he sighed. “The baby is fine, too,” he assured her.

“Thank Merlin,” she sighed, reaching out to grip his hand. “Draco, nothing is the same; you have to take care of yourself. It isn’t just you, anymore.”

“I know,” he murmured, squeezing back. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Pulling him close, she hooked an arm over his shoulder, her other hand holding his head against hers. “I love you, Draco. I just want you to be safe.”

“You sound like Harry.”

She laughed then, and it sounded a little wet. “He said he loved you? That’s progress.”

“No,” Draco sneered. “He’s just worried about me. His hero complex, you know.”

“Well, it pulled you from Fiendfyre once. I’m glad you have a hero on your side.”

“So am I,” he sighed, wistfully. “Now, if only I had one in my bed.”

Lifting her glass again, she saluted him with it. "Yes, well, I told you to tell him  _ that _ , too."

  
  



	3. Chapter 2

"Morning, mate," Ron greeted him cheerfully as he strode into Harry's studio. He carried a box of pastries, as he did every Friday morning. “Got your favourite,” he said, flipping the lid of the box. “‘Mione said you’ve been having a rough week.”

Harry smiled gratefully, reaching in for the proffered bun. “Thanks, Ron. You should take one to Draco, I think he’s skipped breakfast.”

“Sure thing.” Shuffling the haphazard array of props Harry kept for his occasional models, Ron sat on the sofa and kicked his feet up to prop them on the armrest. “Do you want to fill me in? Hermione said you took Malfoy to St. Mungo’s.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Fucking git passed out in the toilet while we were shouting at each other. He was dehydrated.” Feeling that frustration again, Harry leaned back onto his stool, arms crossed, and levelled a hard look at Ron. “But, get this: The baby is fine.”

“Baby?” Ron snorted. “What baby? Did he land on a ba—” He stilled, the words apparently sinking in. “Oh,” he said.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Oh. Why didn’t anyone tell me blokes could have babies?”

“Well,” he began slowly. “It doesn’t happen very often, really. And it takes a lot of magic. Who’s the, er, other father?”

“Some muggle in a club,” Harry scoffed. “He doesn’t know who.”

“A muggle? I suppose that’s possible, but most of the time, it’s two wizards.” Selecting his own pastry, Ron leaned back and took a bite before continuing. “Male pregnancy is weird, mate. Do you know how they give birth?”

Harry shuddered. “I don’t think I want to know,” he groaned. “Isn’t it enough to know they can?”

Ron sniggered. “So, what’s your take on the situation, then?” he asked, licking icing from the corner of his mouth. 

“Draco’s scared,” he admitted. “He hasn’t said it, but I know he is. I’m going to help him—any way I can.”

“Of course you are, Harry. That’s what you do.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He knew what his friends thought of his need to help people, but this was different. He and Draco had been close since eighth year, close enough to share their creative space, to share their living space.

But not close enough to share the information of Draco’s pregnancy willingly, he reminded himself.

“He doesn’t trust me,” he confided with a sigh. “He didn’t tell me. He let the healer talk about it as if I’d known all along, but he didn’t tell me.”

“Of course he trusts you,” Ron said. Sensing the seriousness of this turn in the conversation, he shifted to sit upright, lowering his feet to the floor. “I’m sure he had his reasons for keeping this to himself.”

“Perhaps. I don’t know, it just… This feels big, Ron. Life-changing.”

“Pregnancy always is. Nothing about Draco’s life is going to be the same.”

“I know, I mean— I mean it feels like my life is about to change.”

Ron frowned. "It is. Either you'll have a little Malfoy running around your flat, or he'll get his own place to raise his kid. You two have lived together for six years. That's a big change."

Harry's stomach pitched uncomfortably and he sat back with a sigh. He wasn't sure which option scared him more, which was terrifying enough in its own right. 

-

Harry scowled, tugging at his tie as they made their way through the Manor. Draco bit back a smile. He still didn’t know how he always managed to talk Harry into wearing it. He acted like the bloody thing was choking him. It didn't help that he always seemed out of place in Draco's childhood home, a fact he found oddly charming. Something about the fine furniture and silk wallpaper disagreed with the pure essence of man that hung about him like a fog. 

"Which room are we looking for?" Harry asked, impatient. 

"We aren't looking for it, Potter. I know exactly where it is."

"That's helpful Draco, thank you," he chirped sarcastically and Draco laughed. 

"We're going to the solarium. Mother should be working with her plants."

He was right, of course. When they entered the enormous room, she was barely visible among the plethora of foliage. She was bent over a large tropical flower, carefully tending the waxy leaves. 

"Hello, Mother," Draco called, startling her. 

"Draco!" she cried. "And Harry? What a lovely surprise. Have I lost track of the days?" She rose and started toward them, embracing both in turn when they met in the middle of the room. "I could have sworn you weren't due for another week."

Draco arched a brow at Harry when he chuckled knowingly. "Yes," he said. "I've heard that quite a lot this week. Harry and I can't stay long Mother, we just thought we'd drop in for tea."

"Draco, dear," Narcissa said sternly, her pale eyes searching his. "You never drop in for tea. You schedule tea. What's happened?" 

He felt his eyes prick with tears and swallowed hard. He didn't know quite where the rush of emotion had come from, but he felt a wave of love for his mother. "I— I need to tell you—" 

"Why don't we sit down?" Harry interrupted, taking hold of Draco's elbow in an effort to steady him. 

"Yes, of course," Narcissa agreed. "Jinx!" 

When the little elf appeared, she requested tea be sent in, then led the way to a set of wrought iron garden furniture. She sat in one of the low chairs and gestured for Harry and Draco to take the sofa.

"Now, what is it, darling?" she asked, taking Draco's hands into hers. 

Draco inhaled deeply through his nose. "Mother, I'm—" he began, faltered, then tried again. "I— well, I'm—" 

"Draco," Harry said softly, rubbing a hand down his back. "It's okay."

"I know, I just— Mother, I'm…" Draco froze, an uncomfortable rumble starting low in his stomach. "Oh, Merlin, not now." He took a deep breath and said in a rush: "I'm pregnant, Mother. Oh gods, I'm going to be sick."

Narcissa blinked for a moment before a wide smile spread across her face. "Draco, what wonderful news!" Narcissa cried. "Oh, darling!" She leaned forward to yank him against her, kissing his cheek soundly, and he swallowed down his nausea. "Harry! You must be so proud!" 

"What?" Harry said, going pale. "Oh, no, Narcissa I'm not—" 

"Mother," Draco said, pulling back. "Harry's not the father. I've told you repeatedly, we are  _ not _ a couple."

"Oh, I see. Then who is the father? Why didn't you bring  _ him  _ to tell me?" Her tone was innocent but her eyes sparked. 

"I… I don't know," he admitted. "It was a one night stand… In a Muggle club. There's no way of knowing."

"Oh, Draco," she sighed. "Very well. There's only one solution to this mess."

"Mother, I'm not getting married!" Draco all but shouted, horrified. He'd avoided an arranged marriage by being gay in the first place, he had no interest in one now. 

"That's an idea," she replied thoughtfully. "But not the one I was thinking of. You'll just have to move back in here, so I can help you." 

Now Draco paled. "Mother, no. I've already considered that and decided against it. I'll remain at home, with Harry to help me."

"Don't be ridiculous. Harry has work and his own life to manage," she insisted coldly. 

"Actually," Harry began, but Draco cut him off. Now was not the time for indignation. 

"I have work and a life as well, Mother. We'll be fine." The roiling in his stomach kicked up a notch and Draco bent forward to relieve some of the pressure there. "I'm sorry, I really am going to be sick."

"And then we should be going," Harry said pointedly. "Draco has an appointment in half an hour." 

Nodding, Draco rose, kissed his mother's cheek, and rushed from the room, leaving her staring in his wake. 

-

"So," Harry began. "Do you want a boy, or a girl?" 

Draco was feeling better after his first official check-up, and they'd decided to walk back to their studios through Diagon Alley, rather than Apparate straight there. Autumn was drawing to a close, and the air already carried the chill of winter. Harry pulled his cloak tighter and frowned. 

"Is it possible for two men to have a girl?" 

"I don't know," Draco said thoughtfully. "But it's magic, so probably? And I don't know what I want. Ten years ago, I'd have said boy without a thought. I'd have wanted an heir, just like Father wanted. Now, I don't know. I just want it to be healthy and happy."

Harry smiled, his chest expanding around a little bubble of light. Watching Draco grow, he realized, had been quite a journey. But he'd become so much more than the scared boy who made all the wrong choices. Harry was proud of him and said as much. 

"Fuck off," Draco snorted, but his cheeks held a rosy tint that had nothing to do with the weather. 

"I am! That's such a mature response, what else am I supposed to be?" 

"Maybe less of a condescending prat?" Draco shot back, knocking their shoulders together. "As if you're one to speak of maturity."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded. "I'll have you know—" 

"Oh, I already know." He wagged a finger under Harry's nose, a grin splitting his face. "I know all about the stash of Weasley Wizard Wheezes under your bed."

"Hey! Those are— You know what? It's called supporting a small business!" he declared as he opened the door to their offices and held it for Draco. 

Draco didn't go through it, but stilled opposite Harry and smirked. "Is that so?" 

A jolt shot through him and Harry stared, dumbfounded. That feeling... He knew that feeling. He felt it when he watched Draco discuss the finer points of fiction at Molly’s dinner table. And when he prepared for a date with some new bloke, it lay there, under the annoyance. As Draco stood before him, challenging him, he recognised the familiar rush for what it was. 

He was attracted to Draco. 

"Well?" 

"Er, yes. That's… so."

Draco nodded, finally moving through the door, and Harry followed slowly behind, lost in thought. It certainly explained a few things, he mused, but he couldn't allow it to interfere with… anything. Draco was his friend, his roommate, and he was going through something most men never imagined. He needed a friend. But Harry caught his gaze wandering lower, despite what he told himself, as he watched Draco walk into his studio. 

Fuck. 

-

Draco closed the door and walked hurriedly to his desk. He sat and promptly bent over, pushing his head between his legs and breathing deeply, willing the nausea to pass. He felt fine after leaving the healer's office, but something on the walk through Diagon had set his stomach roiling again. Reaching blindly for a drawer, Draco pulled out one of the potions he'd kept there since his first appointment and swallowed it down. The nausea subsided instantly, but experience told him it would return sooner, rather than later. 

Taking advantage of the lull, Draco set to work. He had three more chapters to outline before he could begin working on them. His protagonist was trying desperately to dictate the story and Draco wasn’t having it. She was far too invested to see the plot clearly, he thought.

After a few hours and several trips to the loo, he was making steady progress. Slowly but surely, he thought. As long as he finished these chapters, Rachel would stay off his back and let him breathe.

He was just wrapping up the second chapter when a knock sounded and Hermione peeked her head in through the door. 

"Draco?" she asked. "Are you terribly busy?" 

"I can spare a few minutes," he said, setting aside his notes to clear his desk. "How can I help you?" 

She pushed the door open fully and came in, a tea service bobbing along behind her. "I thought I'd come see how you're doing," she said, levitating the service to his desk and pulling one of his chairs closer before taking a seat. "Harry told me you might not be feeling well."

"Harry is a bloody menace. I'm fine," he assured her. "You remember being pregnant?" 

"It wasn't all that long ago," she chuckled and set about making them each a cup of tea. "And it was mostly miserable. But my body didn't have to change quite so much to accommodate the baby. You know you can take time off, right?" 

"I know, but that won't be necessary. I'm perfectly capable of handling this."

"Oh, Draco. No one is suggesting you aren't. We just want you to take care of yourself. After you collapsed last week—" 

"I know," Draco sighed, accepting the cup she handed him. "I'll be more careful, but I don't see any reason to quit working in the meantime."

"I understand," she said, settling back with her own cup, then her smile turned soft, wistful. "Oh, I'm so excited for you! Having a baby is amazing!" 

Draco laughed. "I'll hold you to that statement. So far, it's not living up to the hype."

"Oh, don't worry. Morning sickness usually goes away after the first trimester. Then you'll have plenty else to lament."

"Oh, joy," he deadpanned. "I can't wait."

Hermione laughed. "But it's worth it, you'll see. Have you ever thought about being a father?" 

He leaned back into his chair and lifted his teacup. “Not since before the war. I used to think I’d have a little heir who’d be just like me. And he’d go off to Hogwarts and reign over his classmates, just like I did.” He sighed at his own arrogance, glad he’d left such notions behind. “But then the war began, and I didn’t have time to think of anything but survival. And later, after, well... I didn’t want to think about it. I still don’t, not really.”

“I can understand that,” she said, nodding. “But you’re going to have to start thinking about it again. Nine months fly by like nothing. You’ll want to be prepared.”

“I know. Gods, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I’ll bring you some of my books, they helped me immensely when I was pregnant with Rose. It can be calming to have the knowledge.”

He nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you.”

  
  



	4. Chapter 3

Worried, Harry stood just outside the toilet. He didn't particularly want to listen to his best friend vomiting, but was loathe to wander too far from his side. When the sounds quieted, he straightened from where he'd been leaning against the wall. 

"Draco?" he called, just as the door swung open and Draco shuffled from the room. 

"What?" he groaned. "Can't a man die in peace?"

"Not in this house," Harry quipped. "Come on, I've made you some toast and tea."

"Ugh, what makes you think I want to eat?" But he followed Harry to the kitchen and slumped into a chair at the table. 

"You've got to keep your strength up, Draco. I don't want to carry you to St. Mungo's again."

Draco groaned again, pillowing his head on his arms and staring at Harry with such forlorn weariness, he had to bite back a smile. "You could always just let me die and be done with it."

"Don't be silly, Draco," he admonished, sliding the plate with two wedges of toast under his nose. "Who would I bicker with, then?" 

"I'm sure someone would accommodate you, o' Chosen One," Draco sniffed, raising the plate to his nose before jerking back with a gagging sound. "Nope, no toast."

"You have to eat something."

"Why? I'm just going to sick it up again."

Harry sighed. "This can't be normal. Hermione wasn't this sick."

"Nothing about this pregnancy is normal, Potter."

"I know, but—" 

"I'm fine. I'm seeing the healer for the first fetal projection scan, this afternoon. He'll say the same."

"We'll see. I'm coming with you."

"Of course you are," Draco sighed. "Everyone is going to think it's your baby if you keep this up."

Harry felt that odd little clench in his belly again, pushed it away. "People are going to think what they want. We've never had any control over that."

"You could have control over it, if you tried."

"Why bother? It's not like I care either way."

Draco rose and finally sipped the tea. "And that's why there's a group of people who still believe you'll settle down with Ginevra one day," he said with a smirk. "I'm going to get ready for work. The appointment is at one, don't be late."

-

Draco tried not to squirm as he sat on the examination table. Harry was looking around the room curiously, as he had during the last visit. He seemed content enough, but Draco was nervous. It was a kind of excited nervousness, but nervousness nonetheless. Today marked roughly eighteen weeks of pregnancy and he’d finally get to see the baby. He’d already read enough to know it wouldn’t be an impressive size, but he couldn’t wait.

“What is a fetal projection scan?” Harry asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s a procedure that allows you to see inside the womb,” Draco recited. Hermione’s books proved to be excellent evening reading. “Healers use it to check development and the like. Parents are just happy to get to see their baby.”

Harry smiled. “Are you happy to get to see your baby?” he asked. “You seem tense.”

“Of course I’m happy,” Draco snapped, wiping his clammy hands on his robes. “It’s just— what if something’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Draco.” Rising, Harry crossed the small room to stand by his side, taking one hand in his. “It’s alright. I’m here, everything will be fine.”

“Yes, because you can stop the baby having two heads, can you?” But he squeezed Harry’s hand, grateful for the small comfort. “I’m sorry. This whole thing makes me nervous.”

“I can’t stop anything happening,” Harry admitted, hesitantly. “But at least you aren’t worrying alone.”

Draco smiled weakly. “You’re right. Have I thanked you for that, yet?”

“Not once. I’ll take reparations in the form of chocolate.”

That startled a laugh out of him, and that’s how Healer McCrae found them; Harry smiling fondly while holding the hand of a cackling Draco.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he greeted. “I’m happy to see you two appear to be getting on better. It’s important to stay connected throughout the pregnancy. Wouldn’t want to strain your relationship right as a little one comes into it.”

Draco blinked at him and Harry jolted, dropping his hand. “Oh, no, we’re not— I’m not the—” Harry fumbled. He was so bad at this, Draco thought.

“Harry and I are just friends,” he said with a sigh and a pointed look at Harry.

“Ah, I see. Well, we wouldn’t want to strain that either, I suppose." He gave them a warm smile before taking a seat and turning his focus on Draco. "How have you been doing?" 

"Well, I think," Draco said, smiling, and Harry snorted. 

"He's not well," he said, crossing his arms and frowning at Draco. "He's sick all the time. He's barely eating and, every time he does, he throws it up."

"Not every time, Harry. I told you. Morning sickness is part of the package."

"Hmm," McCrae hummed. "You're right, of course, but you're well into your second trimester. It should be calming down."

"It is!" Draco insisted. "It's gotten much better."

"Draco, you threw up twenty times yesterday!" 

"Don't be ridiculous!" Surely he hadn't. "It wasn't more than ten times."

"For an hour straight," Harry countered. "Twice. I don't know how you get through the day."

"Draco," the healer interrupted as he opened his mouth to argue. "Even ten times a day isn't normal at this stage of pregnancy. This sounds like Hyperemesis Gravidarum. I'd like a urine sample and I believe the nurse took your weight…" he paused to check Draco's chart. "Yes, it looks like you've lost some weight since your first visit."

Draco stared, silent. It wasn't normal? Other people weren't constantly nauseated during pregnancy? They didn't get dehydrated and lose weight? He felt foolishly like crying, so he wrapped his arms around his stomach and blinked up at McCrae. 

"What is hyperemesis grevad— er—" 

"Hyperemesis Gravidarum," he repeated. "Essentially, it means you vomit more than usual during pregnancy. Along with that, dehydration, weight loss, and low blood pressure are all possibilities."

"Is… Does that affect the baby?" Draco asked haltingly. He jumped a little when Harry brought a hand to his shoulder and squeezed. 

McCrae sighed. "If you lose too much weight, it can cause a low birth weight. We'll want to monitor you and the baby. For now, I'll prescribe more anti-nausea potions, as well as a few vitamins and sleeping potions." 

"The, erm. The anti-nausea potions I have aren’t really helping," Draco murmured. 

"We'll try a different one, then. This one does have a rather… uncomfortable side-effect, though." But McCrae smiled tenderly and rested a hand on Draco's knee. "Don't fret, Draco. We'll take good care of you. Both of you will be just fine."

-

The healer left to allow Draco to provide a urine sample but Harry refused to go and Draco didn't force him when he chose to wait just outside the ensuite.

Harry didn't know what to do with himself. He'd been right, Draco wasn't well, but he felt no pride in the victory, such as it was. He'd have to convince Draco to take time off. He couldn't keep this up. 

Draco groaned as he left the toilet, and Harry helped him back to the table, ready to argue his point. 

"You threw up just now, didn't you?" 

"I'm not taking time off, Potter," Draco said, in lieu of an answer. "Not yet."

"That's ridiculous, Draco! You heard him!" 

"Yes, I heard him. He said to take my potions and vitamins, he didn't say I couldn't work."

"Draco—" 

He was cut off by a knock at the door as the healer returned. "Now," he said cheerfully. "Who's ready to see the baby?" 

"Please," Draco said, smiling weakly. 

As Harry watched, biting his tongue, Healer McCrae dimmed the lights, then directed Draco to lie back and open his robes, exposing the pale expanse of his belly, already slightly distended with the fetus growing inside him. He didn't know what to expect, so watched carefully as McCrae dipped his hand into a small pot, a salve of some sort. He warmed it in his hand, releasing the scent of herbs and magic into the air, then smeared the paste over Draco’s stomach with his left hand while his right performed some intricate wand movements. He cast his spell and Harry gasped. 

An orb about the size of a quaffle hovered over Draco’s belly, emitting a pale, pulsing blue light. Harry squinted to see the image suspended in the centre of the orb; a small, nearly shapeless curl of flesh.

“Wow,” Draco breathed. “It’s—it’s so small.”

“That’s right,” McCrae smiled. “Only about the size of a bell pepper.”

“Harry, look!”

“I can see it, Draco,” he scoffed, but moved to stand opposite the healer at Draco’s side, entranced by the image. A long, cool hand slipped into his and Draco beamed up at him. Harry nearly choked on the emotion swelling in his throat. Fuck, but this man was beautiful.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Draco asked, turning back to the image.

“Do you want to know the baby’s sex?” McCrae asked.

“No,” Draco said instantly, shaking his head. Then, “Yes. No. Fuck, I don’t know. Harry?”

Harry laughed and kissed Draco’s hand. “Well, I want to know, but it’s not my baby.”

“It’s okay not to know. Some parents choose to be surprised.”

A little whine escaped Draco and his leg began to vibrate. “I don’t—I want to know, but—”

“That’s fine too,” Harry said. “Jesus, Draco, you’re allowed to choose.”

“But are you saying that because it’s true, or because it’s what you want?” Draco whined.

“Definitely because it’s what I want,” Harry deadpanned. “Will you shut up and decide, already?”

Draco huffed, squeezed Harry’s hand. “Fine. I want to know.”

McCrae laughed at them, shaking his head. “Alright, let’s take a look.” He moved the position of his hand on Draco’s belly, changing location every few seconds, and the image rotated as if on an axis, until he let out a quiet “Aha!” and pointed with his free hand. “It looks like you’ve got a boy,” he announced and Draco’s face split into the widest grin Harry had ever seen.

He was a beacon in the dark room, shining with pride and love and Harry was so fucked. Without giving himself time to think, he caught Draco’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, bent over him, slid their lips together. Draco’s lips were cool and chapped, but the grin didn't leave them until he reached up with his free hand to cup Harry's neck and return the kiss. He tasted of mint and man, and Harry sank into him. 

"'Just friends,' he says," Healer McCrae muttered, jerking Harry back to the present. 

Carefully, he pulled away, his eyes locked on the bright grey of Draco's. They held a world of questions; questions Harry wasn’t sure how to answer.


	5. Chapter 4

They didn’t talk about it, much to Draco’s chagrin. His appointment that morning marked two weeks since Harry had kissed him, and they hadn’t said a word about it. He didn’t mind, of course. Why would he mind? It wasn’t like he’d been waiting since eighth year for Harry to make a move. He certainly wasn’t desperate for a repeat performance. He definitely wasn’t still hung up on Harry fucking Potter, after all those years.

Irrationally angry, Draco kicked out at a rubbish bin as he passed it, then groaned and turned back to retch into it. Gods, but he was tired of this. He had twenty minutes left of his self imposed lunch hour; couldn’t he have a moment’s peace? 

Apparently not. Wiping his mouth, he straightened and glared at a passer-by who stopped to gawk before continuing on his way.

The bloody healer wasn’t helping. He'd prescribed biweekly visits to St. Mungo’s for  intravenous fluids . Added to his regular visits, he’d have appointments once a week! How was he supposed to get any writing done between healer visits and vomiting?

By the time he reached the office building that housed his studio, he was in a right strop. It was all he could manage to stride quietly through the lobby and into his space, though he might have shut the door with more force than was strictly necessary. He wanted to rage, to shout against the injustice of his situation. Why couldn't he have a normal fucking pregnancy? 

He buried the urge, instead, letting out steam in small bursts. When Rachel came to check his progress, he snapped at her. When his stomach rebelled, he stormed to the loo and kicked the wall hard enough to have to limp back. Yet, in two hours, he'd barely managed to get any work done. 

So, when Harry poked his head in to check on him (as he'd taken to doing with some frequency over the past months), Draco snapped. How dare he stand there, all broad shoulders and dark stubble, his paint-splattered jeans and his hair as untameable as ever. Draco wanted to kiss him. Or punch him. He settled for scowling. 

"I'm fine, Potter!" he snarled. "Don't you have your own work to focus on?" 

"I just wanted to ask you about your appointment," Harry said, then slipped all the way into the room and closed the door. "Did it not go well? What happened?" 

He was all concern, rushing across the room and looking at Draco with those big, bright eyes. Draco scowled harder. "I don't want to talk about it. How about we discuss how you fucking kissed me and then acted like nothing happened?" 

Harry jerked back as if slapped. "Draco, I—That's not—" 

"Not what? Relevant? I think it is! You can't fucking ruin that moment for me, Potter!" 

"I'm sorry," Harry said, his eyes downcast. "I know how important that visit was to you! I didn't mean to—" 

"Not the visit, you prick! The kiss!" Draco hissed without a thought. Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. Harry wasn't supposed to know how much it had affected him. 

"The kiss?" Harry asked, confused. “That was the moment I ruined?"

Suddenly, Draco felt like crying. He slumped back in his chair. "What, you expect it should remain a pleasant memory when you refuse to acknowledge its existence? Fine, you regret it. Just go away and let me be."

To his horror, the tears pricking at his eyes began to spill over, so he swivelled away from Harry's earnest gaze. 

"I-I don't regret it, Draco," Harry said softly. "I think I probably shouldn't have done it, but I don't regret it."

Draco sniffed but didn't say anything. He'd made a bloody fool of himself, and his shifting hormones weren't helping matters. 

"You were vulnerable, at that moment," he went on. "And I was supposed to be a supportive friend."

The tears fell. Gods, he was ridiculous! He would have told Harry to leave again, but he didn't trust his voice just then. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like I didn't want to kiss you. Fuck, I want to kiss you all the time." He paused, then asked in a hesitant tone, "Draco? Could you please say something?" 

"No," Draco said wetly. 

"Fuck, are you crying?" 

"No," he lied, but it didn't work; Harry was already rounding his desk and pulling him to his feet. 

"I'm sorry, Draco," he murmured, wrapping him in his arms and holding him tightly. "I didn't realise you'd be so upset."

"I'm not," Draco whimpered, but he grasped at Harry's robes, pushing closer. "I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me."

Harry chuckled at that. “You’re a ball of foreign hormones,” he said, giving Draco a quick squeeze before pulling back enough to look at him.

“So,” Draco sniffed. “Just to clarify; you do want to kiss me?”

He expected laughter, but Harry gave him a serious look before bending and laying his lips gently over Draco’s. The kiss was soft, warm, and he felt a new rush of tears as Harry slanted his lips, dragging them slowly in the most tender of kisses. It didn’t last long, but Draco felt he might have melted if it had gone on any longer.

Still feeling foolish, he burrowed into Harry’s shoulder again. “How much longer will these hormones yank me about?”

That did pull a laugh out of Harry and Draco smiled weakly into his shirt. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go home and get some rest.”

He wanted to refuse, but the whirlwind of his emotions throughout the day had left Draco exhausted. Nodding, he stepped back. “Okay.”

-

Harry made a point of kissing him after that. In the morning, before work, he'd bring him salty crackers and water, wait for his daily grimace to subside, and lean in for a quick peck before he jumped out of bed to rush to the toilet. In the afternoon, when he looked drawn and worn out, Harry closed them in Draco's office and kissed him long and slow. While they shopped for a cot and nappies for the baby, he pulled them into empty aisles and snogged him senseless. 

Occasionally, Draco would push him away and tell him to stop being such a sap; other times he'd cling and almost purr at the attention. Once, when he'd been in a particularly foul mood, he'd jerked back and punched Harry in the stomach. It didn't deter him in the slightest. 

"What do you think of this one?" Draco asked, holding up a minute jumper in a deep, forest green. 

"Do you think they make normal sized clothes and shrink them?" Harry asked. 

"Harry," he scolded. "Could you please pay attention?" 

“Sorry.” Harry looked at the jumper again, trying to imagine the baby wearing it. A normal sized version would look lovely on Draco, he thought, then smiled wistfully. "If he looks anything like you, it'll be perfect."

Draco flushed, but put the jumper in his shopping basket. "I'm going to go to look at the bottles," he said, then paused, shook his head. "No, I'm going to the loo. Hold my basket," he demanded, shoving it into Harry's hands and walking quickly toward the back of the shop. 

Harry chuckled, following behind at a leisurely pace. Draco would be a while. Detouring, he decided to stop by the toy section. The aisles were set up by age range of the toys within and Harry made a beeline for the one dedicated to newborns. There weren’t many interactive toys, but he found a lovely wooden rattle, lavender with white polka dots and carved lace around the narrow neck of the handle. He added it to the basket, then glanced up when a pair of employees rushed by.

“Near the loo, yes,” one said, a look of grim determination on her face. “Did someone contact St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes, they’re sending healers now,” the other replied as he jogged to keep up.

Harry felt his stomach drop. “Excuse me?” he called out, but they were too far ahead. Clutching the basket in white knuckled hands, he raced after them. He caught them up near the back wall of the shop, a few aisles from the loo. “What’s happened?” he demanded, following them around a corner, then froze.

A crowd had formed around the centre of the aisle where a form lay sprawled on the floor. Harry’s heart joined his stomach somewhere around the region of his knees when he saw the pale hair spread across the wooden planks.

“Draco!” he cried, dropping the basket and fighting his way through the crowd. “Draco!”

The whispers began immediately as the crowd realised the man on the floor was Draco Malfoy, and that Harry Potter was the one rushing to his side. He ignored them, kneeling beside Draco and slapping gently at his cheeks. 

“Draco? Come on, baby, come back to me.”

The healers arrived within moments and tried to shoo him away, but he wouldn’t have it. “He’s dehydrated,” he insisted. “He's scheduled for fluids tomorrow afternoon!”

“We’ll take care of him, Mr Potter,” one healer assured him while the others carefully transferred him from the floor to a narrow cot and secured him to it. “We have to take him in, now. You can portkey along with me, I'll make sure you stay with him."

"Yes, alright," Harry sighed, nodding. "Thank you."

-

Draco woke groggily. He didn’t have time to take in his surroundings before the nausea set in, and he leaned over the side of his bed to empty his stomach. He barely registered the hand on his back, or the soothing words as it splattered to the floor.

“It’s okay, baby, let it out,” Harry was murmuring through the ringing in Draco’s ears. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“What happened?” he asked, as soon as his voice would cooperate. 

“You fainted again,” Harry said, pushing the hair back from Draco’s eyes and searching his face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been dragged to hell and back by a mad hippogriff,” he groaned. “I want to go home.”

Harry rose to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling him close and resting his chin on Draco’s head. “I know, baby. We’ll go soon.”

They sat like that until the nurse came to check on him. He didn’t stay long, leaving again within moments to collect the healer, a woman they hadn’t met before. Harry’s presence was comforting, so Draco didn’t move far from his embrace, opting to maintain physical contact while the healer spoke. Bed rest, fluids, potions. It was all routine by now, so ingrained Draco could give the speech himself. He nodded along, even when the healer suggested he take time off work to rest. He was too tired to fight it anymore; they were right, he needed to take care of himself.

Eventually, the healer removed his empty IV, insisted he keep his appointment for the next day, and declared him free to go.

Harry led him to the floo bank, and Draco allowed it. When they got home, Harry pushed his vitamins and sleeping potion on him, tucked him into bed, and curled up behind him, his arms wrapped tightly around Draco’s chest and one hand resting gently on the mound of his belly. It wasn’t comfortable, but he didn’t complain as sleep took him anyway.


	6. Chapter 5

Resigned to his exile, Draco collected a glass of water and a new book on his way from the loo back to his bedroom. It had been a week, and he missed writing. He knew, of course, that it would be asking too much of himself to continue; his health couldn’t take it and, without that, there would be no work ever again. Draco loved his career, but he also loved himself, and the little monster growing inside him.

As he passed the full length mirror he kept in the corner of his room, he smiled at his reflection. His face was drawn, his eyes heavily shadowed, and his cheeks slightly hollowed, but that wasn’t what he chose to see. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the gentle slope of his belly and turned sideways to see better. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed that morning, only pulled on an old pair of jeans, unbuttoned and folded down at the waist. His belly protruded over the waistband, the skin stretched taut. He wasn’t enormous, he had to remind himself, not yet. But neither could anyone deny he was pregnant. His hands came up to stroke the bare flesh, caressing it tenderly. A sudden ripple had him freezing in place and he gasped. A grin split his face as he stared in awe, shifting his hands to try to find the source of the movement again.

Not for the first time, all of his worries vanished, the discomfort he felt on a daily basis meant nothing compared to the wonder of what was happening. This was how he’d been feeling the first time Harry kissed him, he realised, this immense joy that something so magical was happening to him,  _ for  _ him.

_ Harry _ , he thought, excitedly. He had to show Harry!

Abandoning the book and water, he rushed to find a shirt, then Apparated straight into Harry's studio. 

“Draco, what are you doing here? We agreed you wou—”

“I know, I’m not here to work. Come here,” he said, leading him to the sofa. “I have to show you something!”

Draco hurried ahead of him and leaned against one armrest, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. When he looked up, Harry was still at his canvas, his brush held loosely at his side, watching him, his eyes dark with something Draco couldn’t quite place.

“Come here,” he said, again. “You have to feel this.” He shrugged out of the shirt and draped it over the back of the sofa before cupping his hands around his belly and feeling for that movement again.

Harry strode forward slowly. “What are you doing?” he asked warily.

When he was within reach, Draco snatched his wrist and brought Harry’s hand to his belly, watching his face as his eyes shifted to look at the spot his hand covered. Saw the moment he felt the kick.

“Holy fuck,” Harry breathed, eyes darting back to Draco’s face. “He’s kicking!”

“He’s kicking,” Draco confirmed. Beaming, he covered Harry’s hand with his and squeezed. “Merlin, can you believe it?”

They stood like that, hands joined over Draco's belly, for several awestruck moments. When the movement settled, Harry smiled, brought his hand up to cup Draco’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he murmured, then pressed their lips together.

Draco sighed, wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pressed closer, relishing the feel of soft fabric against his skin. When Harry deepened the kiss, he moaned into it, the taste of him, the scent sending heat zinging through Draco’s blood. He’d felt it before and always pushed Harry away, kept it light, but gods how he wanted.

“Harry,” he gasped, jerking away.

"I'm sorry, I—" 

"I want you," Draco interrupted. 

"What?" 

Draco laughed. "You don't know what 'I want you' means?" he asked, smirking. "What did you think, I only wanted you to kiss me? Potter, I'm horny enough when I don't have hormones running wild in my system. If you don't do something about this—" 

-

Harry darted forward, closing his lips over Draco’s in an effort to silence him. It didn’t work; an amused sound still escaped through his nose. Closing his hands around Draco’s hips, Harry lifted him, depositing him on the armrest. His eyes locked on the shifting grey of Draco’s and grinned as he reached for the zip of his jeans.

“Here?” Draco asked, eyes darkening. He tried to bat Harry’s hands away, to no avail.

“Here.”

Lifting until Draco rose, he tugged the stiff fabric down, over his hips, and left the jeans bunched around his thighs, standing back to look. He was beautiful, all pale skin and paler hair. The bulge of his belly softened some of the hard lines of his body and the week’s worth of stubble softened that of his jaw. The combination of such masculinity and femininity jerked at Harry’s cock, pulled him forward, urged him to touch. 

He slid his hands over every inch of skin he could reach, trailing a separate path with his tongue, bending to reach while Draco leaned back and thrust his hips forward with a whine. Chuckling, Harry sank to his knees, so he was at eye level with his prize. Draco’s flushed cock jutted out of a tuft of pale hair, leaking steadily from its tip, and Harry licked his lips in anticipation. Another inch and he could close his mouth around it. But he waited, choosing instead to rub his nose down the length and bury it in soft pubic hair, inhaling deeply.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco moaned. He brought his hands to Harry’s head, shoving them into his hair and gripping tight. “You’re such a bloody tease!”

Giving in, Harry reached forward, taking his cock in hand and giving it a little squeeze before his lips followed. He lapped at the head, rolling the flavour of him over his tongue. Draco whimpered, panting and wriggling to get closer. Finally, Harry opened his mouth wide and swallowed him down, pleased when Draco cried out.

“Fucking hell, Harry!” he hissed. “Yes!”

Slurping a little, he picked up the pace, bobbing his head obscenely with the little thrusts of Draco’s hips. Before long, those movements became erratic, his fists tightening and Harry could tell he was close. 

When a whine began in Draco's throat, picking up pitch as it went, Harry took a deep breath and plunged one last time. He took Draco as far down as he could, swallowed, and thrilled when he screamed out his orgasm. Harry took a moment to be grateful for the distance between their studios and Hermione’s office as he sucked slowly up and off Draco's cock, grinning when he saw it twitch. 

"Merlin," Draco panted. "We should have done that sooner."

"Years ago," Harry agreed. He rose, pulling Draco's jeans up as he went and hauling him off the sofa to finish the job. Tucking his cock gently away, he smiled into the sated face. "Alright love, go home. There's still time before your appointment; get some rest."

Draco nodded slowly, humming, then stilled. "What about you?" he asked, his eyes darting down to the tent in Harry's trousers. 

"I can wait until I get home," he promised. "You look worn out."

"I feel amazing," he countered and Harry chuckled. 

"I bet. Now go home."

"Fine," Draco conceded, yawning hugely. "But I owe you."

"I'll hold you to that," Harry sniggered, but he bent for one last kiss before Draco Disapparated. Shaking his head with a fond smile, Harry pushed the heel of his hand against his cock, willing it down before returning to his canvas. 

-

Harry was staring. He couldn’t help it. Draco was still glowing from his afternoon appointment, and it was captivating. Throughout dinner, while he regaled them all with his description of the blue orb that rippled with the baby’s heartbeat, Harry ooh'd and ah'd along with Ron and Hermione as if he hadn’t been there, his eyes locked on Draco as he spoke. Beneath the table, his feet closed the distance between them, skimming up the denim clad calf until Draco shot him a secret smile that warmed Harry’s blood.

They sat in the living room of Ron and Hermione’s little house long after dinner was over. Harry leaned comfortably against the cushions of the second hand sofa Ron had picked out just after Hogwarts, content to watch from across the room as Draco pulled out the little stack of photos the healer had given him that afternoon, keepsakes from the fetal projection scan. Harry had already seen them, images of the baby’s face and feet; one, crystal clear, of his genitals. He smiled when Ron laughed, sure he’d reached that picture when he cried out “Merlin! That’s one for the photo album!”

“Funny how they never say that about a girl’s baby pictures,” Hermione noted with a grin as she slid onto the sofa beside Harry.

“That would be disturbing,” he replied easily, already aware of where this was headed.

“But it’s not disturbing to laugh at a boy’s genitals?” she asked. 

“Of course it is, ‘Mione,” he said, heaving a long suffering sigh for her benefit. “But it’s tradition.”

She opened her mouth to argue, in spite of the twinkle in his eyes, when Ron piped up. “Speaking of tradition, Mum wants to know when would be a good time for the baby shower.”

“The what?” Draco asked, fumbling the photos. “Who said anything about a baby shower?”

“You don’t want a baby shower?” Harry asked, tilting his head curiously. “You love parties. Especially when they involve you getting gifts.”

Draco frowned and, for a moment, Harry was sure he was about to stick out his tongue. “Of course I do, it just… I hadn’t thought of having one. Do I have to?”

“Don’t be silly, Draco,” Hermione said, dismissively. “Like Ron said, it’s tradition. And Molly will be distraught if you refuse.”

Ron grimaced. “If you upset her, you’re dealing with the fallout, mate.”

Harry watched as Draco’s face reddened, his eyes downcast. He shuffled the photos nervously and Harry couldn’t take it anymore. Rising, he padded across the room and dropped to sit cross-legged beside him, leaning in close.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice hushed. “Why don’t you want a baby shower?”

“It’s not that I don’t  _ want  _ it,” he said. He looked around the room, meeting each pair of curious eyes before letting out a sigh. “People will want to touch it,” he whinged. “That’s also tradition, of a sort. Everyone wants to touch the pregnant belly, and I don’t want a bunch of Weasleys touching me.”

When he finished, he took a deep breath and ducked his head. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks; surprise, amusement, and exasperation. Finally, amusement won out and, as one, they threw back their heads and laughed. Draco nodded, a sardonic smile spreading on his face. 

“Yes, of course, it’s hilarious. Laugh, all of you, but it’ll happen. Some Weasley or other will start it and, before you know it, the whole bloody house will descend upon me. They’ll scare the baby so badly, he’ll never want to come out.”

With each statement, the laughter grew. Ron threw himself back with it, to lie sprawled on the rug; Hermione twittered into her wine glass, her cheeks darkening as she gasped for breath; and Harry draped himself over Draco, in spite of the glare aimed at him.

“It’s okay,” he promised, still sniggering. “I’ll protect you from the horde of redheads.” 

“You had better.” Draco crossed his arms, eyes narrowed, and Harry really couldn’t help himself. Leaning forward, he closed his lips over Draco’s scowling pair, ignoring the gasp from Ron and the knowing look Hermione burned into his back. They’d be fine, he knew, but it had to be done. 


	7. Chapter 6

Blue light filled the room, the orb it emanated from rippling with the baby’s heartbeat. Harry and Draco sat close together on the examination table, their heads tilted against each other, their hands clasped as they watched the little form stretch and turn. He could, Draco realised, sit like this forever.

Before he was ready for it to end, Healer McCrae was pulling his hand away and lifting the lights, a look of concern twisting his features. “You haven’t had a nonstress test yet, Draco?” he asked as he wiped the paste from his hand.

“No,” Draco replied hesitantly. He squeezed Harry’s hand, reassuring himself he was still there. “What is that?”

“It’s a noninvasive test to monitor the baby’s growth; only takes about thirty minutes. I’d like you to come in every other week for the test.”

“Every other week?” Draco cried. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“He seems a bit small; I just want to monitor his growth to ensure he’ll be able to endure the stress of labour. Otherwise, we may need to consider a cesarean.”

He felt cold, all the way to his bones, but nodded. He’d do it. He’d do anything if it meant his baby would be healthy. Releasing Harry’s hand, he wrapped both arms protectively around his belly, eyes still firmly on the healer as he explained the possibilities and risks. When Draco assured him he didn’t have any questions, Healer McCrae bid them good afternoon and left them to make their way out of the hospital themselves.

Draco didn’t remember leaving the room, let alone the hospital. Before he knew it, he was stepping through the floo ahead of Harry, into their tiny living room. He started when Harry took his elbow and led him to the sofa.

“It’s going to be okay, Draco,” Harry murmured. Draco nodded and he left his side to putter around the kitchen.

Probably making tea, Draco mused. That’s what Harry did when the world went to shit and he couldn’t stop it. He snorted when he heard the kettle whistle, then gasped as a sob ripped itself out around the sound. Overcome with it, he let himself fall sideways on the sofa, let the sobs wrack his body. He didn’t hear the chink of ceramic hitting stone, or the hushed words Harry fed him, but he could feel the warm hand between his shoulderblades, the messy hair falling to tickle his face. The soft kisses that covered his face.

When he could choke out the words, he wailed, “What do I do? How can I fix this?”

“Shhh,” Harry hushed him. “It isn’t your fault, baby. Everything is going to be fine.”

"How can you say that?" he demanded. "The baby is small! He's going to—" 

"He's going to be fine," Harry insisted. "Lots of babies are small. Rose was small, remember?" 

"Oh, gods, Harry! How can I be a father if I can't even have a baby properly?" 

"Hey," he chuckled, nudging playfully at Draco's chin. "Most men can't have babies at all."

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" 

Standing, Harry lifted Draco just enough to slide onto the sofa beneath him, then wrapped an arm around his shoulders, still shaking with the force of his sobs. 

"Draco, the healers are going to do everything they can to make sure this baby is healthy. You just need to relax and help them do their jobs."

It didn't stop the tears, or the fear coursing through him, but Draco was glad for the comfort Harry offered. Glad he sat with him until the sobs quieted, until he could lift himself to a sitting position. 

He conjured a handkerchief and held it out, and Draco wanted to cry again. Instead, he accepted the slip of cloth and cleaned his face before giving Harry a watery smile in return, though it didn't last. 

"I'm sorry," he sniffed. "I'm being ridiculous."

"That's alright. You're actually handling all of this quite well. Hermione had a meltdown once a month."

Draco chuckled weakly. "I remember. I was fortunate to have only witnessed two."

Harry shuddered. "I caught five." Then he sobered, placing a hand gently on Draco's knee. "I'm so sorry, baby; I have to get to the studio, I’m a bit behind. Will you be okay alone? I could floo Pansy or Blaise."

Shaking his head, Draco waved him away. "I'll be fine. Go to work, you lazy sod." But he was grinning, so Harry returned it before pressing a kiss to his temple and rising. 

When he was alone, Draco looked around the room, desperate for something to do to fill his time. Deciding wasn't difficult. Rubbing his hands together, he got to work. 

-

Lost in his work, Harry slashed and splattered, brushstrokes erratic at best as he brought his vision to life. He should have been working on the painting for McGonagall, but he couldn’t help himself. This was his third painting depicting the same subject and he knew he was completely fucked. He’d painted Draco before, of course, but never like this. Never so obsessively, so single-mindedly as he did now. 

Every day of his pregnancy, Draco became more beautiful, more entrancing, and Harry found something new to paint with it. He’d taken to sketching him on a regular basis; when he was happy, when he was angry, when he was sleeping. Today’s painting was just such an occasion. He’d fallen asleep during a film a few nights ago, and Harry had immediately reached for his sketchbook before carrying him to bed and making love to him, soft and slow.

Now, he came to life on the canvas. Harry could almost see his chest rise and fall with the deep rhythm of sleep. When the sun set, he cast a spell that sent daylight streaming through the picture windows and mixed more paint. He didn’t step back until he was finished, until the Draco on the canvas was so lifelike, he ached to reach out and touch. 

Checking the time, Harry started and set about cleaning up. He’d left Draco alone far longer than he’d intended. When his space was as clean as it could be without a complete renovation, he stepped up to the floo, through the emerald flames and into… chaos. If it weren't for the blond curled up on the sofa (which was halfway across the room from its usual place) he might have thought he'd given the wrong floo address. But no, Draco was indeed asleep on the misplaced sofa, and nearly every object in their living room had found a new home at least three feet from its previous location. 

Wading through the debris of his home, Harry approached the sofa and the man snoozing there. "Draco," he whispered, nudging his shoulder gently. " _ Draco _ ." 

Draco moaned and shifted, but slept on. 

Sighing, Harry picked his way around the sofa, then bent over the back to hook his arm under Draco's knees and around his back, lifting him with ease. He tried not to think about how much weight he'd lost, focusing instead on transporting him to his bed. 

"Harry?" Draco mumbled, shifting again. "Don't go in the living room. Not done."

Harry snorted as he shouldered Draco's door open. "I see," he said conspiratorially. "I'll be sure to use the toilet's floo."

"Mhm, that's best."

Smiling a lopsided grin, Harry set Draco on his bed and flipped his blanket over him. He had just pressed a kiss to his forehead when Draco sat bolt upright. 

"Harry?" he called into the darkness. "Where are you going?" 

"Shh, I'm just going to bed. Go back to sleep, baby."

Draco patted the spot beside him. "Here's a bed," he yawned. "Lay down, stay a while." Then he flopped down and curled himself into a ball. 

Charmed, Harry shucked his filthy jeans and faded t-shirt and slipped beneath the blanket. Scooting himself closer, he wrapped an arm around Draco's waist and closed his eyes. Draco turned in his arms and curled himself around Harry, a sleepy sigh escaping his lips as he settled.

Harry smiled, pressed a kiss to his temple, and closed his eyes. He could get used to this, he thought, ignoring the niggling voice in the back of his mind that wondered if Draco felt the same. It wasn’t exactly a new thought; he often wondered if Draco would ever settle down but, Merlin, it had never mattered so much before. Tightening his hold on the man, Harry fell into a fitful sleep.

-

Draco woke slowly, content to lie in the circle of Harry’s arms while sleep faded and before nausea set in. It wouldn’t be long, he knew, so he enjoyed it while he could. This was what he wanted, what he’d wanted for years now; to wake up with Harry, spend his days with him. He’d long ago given up on attaining that dream, but here it was. And it only took a spontaneous pregnancy to achieve it.

Chuckling to himself, Draco summoned a packet of salty crackers and conjured a glass. Filling it with another spell, he munched thoughtfully while he watched Harry sleep. He didn’t look innocent in sleep, he mused. Not like some writers described their characters. He looked… eternal. Like he could stay forever in that pose, never age, never change, but not all that different from how he looked awake. Draco longed for the skill Harry had with a paintbrush. Words couldn’t describe him, not adequately, and he’d give anything to immortalise him in that moment.

But then the nausea set in and Draco rolled out of bed to rush to the loo. 

When he returned, Harry watched him from the bed, his eyes still heavy with sleep, his hair messier than ever.

“Good morning, handsome,” he yawned, reaching out to welcome Draco back to bed. “Did you enjoy rearranging the house yesterday?”

Draco winced, but crawled back into bed, settling contentedly against him. “Don’t start with me, I was distraught.”

“I know, baby,” Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to his neck. “You should have let me call Pansy.”

“Maybe,” Draco conceded. “It might not have made a difference, though. How’s the painting coming along?”

Harry groaned, snuggling closer. “I didn’t work on it. I got distracted.”

“Starting work on your next show?”

“Hmm. Something like that,” he said, and kissed again, a slow suction of lips on the muscle of Draco’s neck.

Draco hummed, pushing into the touch. “What is it, this time?” he asked, already losing the thread of conversation.

“The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” Shifting, Harry pulled Draco back to lie flat and positioned himself half over him. “Don’t tell him, though. He’s already got a big head.”

“You’re painting me?” he asked, touched. He trailed a hand up Harry’s back in slow circles. 

“See? So arrogant,” Harry teased, then brought their lips together at last.

Sighing into the kiss, Draco stretched himself out, luxuriating when Harry’s hands began their slow ascent from his hips, over his chest, and around to cradle his neck. His thumbs caressed Draco’s cheekbones as piercing green eyes met his, searching. He must have found what he was looking for, because he kissed him again, firmer, more insistently.

Draco’s hands moved to touch, tracing the muscles along Harry’s back, slipping down to grasp his arse through his pants. The scant piece of cloth reminded him he was still fully clothed, denim and linen barring Harry’s hands from skin, barring Draco’s skin from him. Pushing him back slightly, Draco reached for the buttons of his shirt, pinching them open quickly before squirming out of it altogether. 

“Fuck,” Harry breathed. “You’re so beautiful.”

Draco pushed his shirt aside and Harry leaned forward to press his lips to one lightly muscled shoulder and crawled over him until their groins met, slid. He sucked at the spot for a moment, then moved on to trail his tongue along Draco’s collarbone, over one soft pectoral, and down his ribcage. When he met the bulge of his belly, he pressed a gentle kiss at the top and sat up, pressing their cocks together. 

“Harry,” Draco hummed. He brought his hands to the fastening of his jeans, tugged, and dropped them again with a pleading look at Harry.

“And so needy,” he chuckled. But he reached forward to release the clasp, shuffling down his legs and pulling the stiff fabric with him.

When it was pooled around Draco’s ankles, he stopped, leaned forward, and closed his mouth over the rapidly swelling cock still encased in soft cotton. Draco gasped at the sensation, arching into it with his head thrown back against the pillows.

“Fucking hell, Harry!” he cried, his hands flying into wild hair to ground himself. “Gods, yes!”

Apparently impatient, Harry hooked his fingers over the waistband and yanked the offensive material down, just enough to take Draco’s cock into his mouth. He sucked, pulling all manner of obscene sounds from his lips, rising and falling against the pumping of his hips until Draco thought he’d go mad. Took him to the very brink of sanity before disappearing, without warning.

“Potter,” Draco scolded, his head flying up to see what had stopped him. 

But Harry was shimmying down his legs again, peeling off the denim from around his ankles, and shoving one leg up to press against Draco’s belly. Before he could say a word, Harry swiped a hot, wet stripe over the furled muscle at his entrance and Draco threw his head back again, a strangled groan lodged in his throat.

He took his time, lapping around the edges, poking his tongue into the tight ring briefly before retreating again to nip at the soft globes of Draco’s arse. Panting, Draco raised himself up on his elbows to watch the dark curls bounce as he turned his head this way and that, approaching his goal from every conceivable angle. Finally, finally, he speared as far into the fluttering hole as his tongue could go and Draco screamed, his hips pushing back into it.

Chuckling, Harry pulled away. “Easy, baby,” he admonished. He muttered a spell, then slipped one slick finger between Draco’s arse cheeks, pressing experimentally at the ring of muscle before pushing past it.

“Oh, gods,” Draco groaned, bucking his hips. “More!”

Harry kissed his thigh, locking his lips around the supple flesh and sucking hard as he slid another finger in, pumping them slowly to open him. When Draco was sure he’d combust, Harry stopped again, kneeling to pull down his own pants before crawling back up over him, bending him at the waist as he hooked an arm around his knee and forced it up higher. 

“Ready?” he asked between kisses. Draco nodded frantically, wrapping his free leg around Harry’s hip and canting his own to bring their cocks together, however briefly.

“Yes, fuck me,” he whined. “What’s taking you so lo—aahhh!”

Chuckling, Harry lined himself up and pushed in to the hilt, cutting Draco off as he cried out, thrusting back to impale himself fully. Together, they set a steady pace, hips bucking, meeting, falling away only to meet again. Draco clung to him, sobbing gasps falling from his lips again and again, ripping from his throat with every thrust, every drag of the cock inside him.

It was too much, Draco couldn’t last. Reaching around his belly, he grasped his cock, fist pumping in time with his beating heart. It didn’t take long before the rush overtook him, his body still, his muscles clenching around Harry. And Harry kept moving, pushing, reaching for his own orgasm. When it hit, he ground himself into Draco with a force that should have shocked him, but he welcomed it, bucking up to meet him, rising to wrap his arms around the broad shoulders and capture Harry’s lips in his as they rode the wave together.


	8. Chapter 7

Draco moaned piteously, tamping down the desire to stomp his feet petulantly. A month in and his third trimester seemed to be just as determined to kill him as the previous two. When he wasn't vomiting, he was still glued to the toilet, struggling just as much. 

"What's taking so long?" Harry called through the door. "I have to get going!" 

"I'm dying!" Draco howled, glaring at the wood when Harry had the audacity to laugh at his pain. 

"You're not dying," he assured him. 

"Then I'm having a baby," Draco called back, voice strained as he pushed fruitlessly. "Gods, I hope I'm having the baby! I just want this to end!" 

"Merlin, you're such a drama queen," Harry teased, pushing the door open. 

"What are you doing? Get out of here!" 

"I need to brush my teeth," he said, waving away Draco's discomfort. "Are you almost done dying?" 

"Nng, no!" 

"Is this the side effect the healer talked about?" Harry asked around his toothbrush. "Maybe there's another potion that can help." 

"Gods, I hope so!" 

Harry chuckled, taking a mouthful of water to rinse. "Okay, I’m off," he said, ducking to kiss Draco's sweaty forehead. “Better hurry if you want to make your appointment.”

"I'm bloody working on it, you wanker!" Reaching into the tub, he pulled out Harry’s shampoo and hurled it at him just as he danced out of the loo. “Coward!”

“I’m picking my battles!” he called as he strode down the corridor to the living room.

Draco shook his head. Giving up, he cleaned himself up and stood, flushing the toilet and turning to study his reflection. He still looked worn out, but the dark smudges under his eyes seemed to have stabilised, along with his weight. The biweekly fluids were definitely helping, he thought, but he still hated those appointments. Just as he hated sitting still for half an hour while a diagnostic spell monitored the baby’s heart rate. He knew it was beneficial, it was just uncomfortable. Not that the hospital wasn’t trying; there were large, squishy armchairs and full four posters for expectant parents to relax while they wait. It was just difficult to relax at all. If it wasn’t the violent urge to be sick, it was the pain in his hips and lower back, or the urgent need to wee. 

But that wasn’t today’s visit. Today, he got to spend half an hour staring at his son through the blue glow of the fetal projection scan. It was that time that made the other visits worth the effort. To see his baby and know that he was safe and healthy would be worth all the healer appointments in the world.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Draco checked the time, then hurried to dress, cringing when he passed through the living room and remembered he’d yet to put it to rights. After his appointment, he promised himself. And, if he managed to keep that promise, he’d treat himself to a bit of writing afterward. He’d promised not to set foot in his studio, but he never said he wouldn’t write at all. That would be torture.

-

Harry was antsy. He had to get some work done on McGonagall’s painting while he still had light. The deadline was fast approaching and he’d been so wrapped up in Draco that he’d barely gotten anything done since he learned about the pregnancy. And he had a limited amount of time to work today. He needed to get to the shops before closing. He still had to buy a gift for the baby shower. It was approaching faster than the painting’s deadline and though he knew what he wanted to get, he’d yet to actually order it.

As soon as he could justify doing so, he set down his brush and looked over his work. There was still a way to go, but the canvas was covered and ready to fill in with smaller details. The castle rose magnificently over the grounds where the Whomping Willow raged, the Forbidden Forest to one side, the Great Lake to the other and, in the background, the goal posts of the Quidditch pitch could be seen. He still had to add the greenhouses and Hagrid’s hut, then he could begin on the students that would dot the grounds in various forms of activity.

Satisfied with his work, he began tidying up; rinsing his brushes and palette, and readying his space for the next time he needed it. It was a habit born of necessity; he found it easier to work when he started with a tidy space. Maybe it wasn’t exactly clean, but everything he needed was. 

Cutting the lights, he jogged out of his studio and out onto Diagon Alley. He made a beeline for Quality Quidditch Supplies, ready to buy the baby his first training broom. He knew what he wanted, knew it had to be special ordered, and he was running out of time. The baby shower was mere weeks away and it had already taken far too long to think of the perfect gift. 

He thought of how perfect the future could be, a miniature Draco toddling about, or whizzing by on his broom. They'd need a bigger flat, of course, but not right away. Draco could move into Harry's room to make space for the baby, but they'd need something bigger before long. Something with a proper garden, more than two bedrooms, and the space for— 

A sparkle caught his eye and Harry stopped to look at a display he couldn’t recall seeing before. It was a jewellery shop, the window filled with necklaces and bracelets of all shapes and sizes, even headdresses. A long, narrow box off to one side offered an array of rings and Harry gasped, his eyes glued to the little box.

He didn’t give himself a chance to second guess; he knew there’d be time for that later. Instead, he squared his shoulders and entered the shop.

Two hours later, and quite a few galleons lighter, he finally made his way into Quality Quidditch Supplies just in time to explain what he needed and have it ordered. They assured him it would arrive in time for the shower, and he left with a spring in his step and a smile he couldn't temper if he wanted to.

-

"Draco?" Harry shouted, startling him where he was bent over the toilet waiting for the next wave to come, as he knew it would. 

"In here," he called moments before that wave crashed. 

"Ah," Harry chuckled from the corridor outside. "Right where I left you."

"Sod off, Potter," he groaned, swiping at his mouth. At least it was over for the day. Rising, he moved to the sink to brush away the bile. 

"You done?" He opened the door to peek inside, beaming at Draco like a loon. 

“Who said you could be so chipper?” Draco asked, spitting out toothpaste. “Your work going that well?”

“It’s going okay,” Harry said, smirking a little. He leaned casually against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “How’s your deathbed work coming along?”

Draco frowned. “Who says I’ve been working? I’m home resting, why would I be—” At Harry’s pointed look, he cut himself off and glared. “Fine, I’ve been working. It’s nothing, really. Just a short story that’s been going round in my mind.”

“Can I read it?” he asked and Draco felt himself flush.

“Of course not, Potter. It isn’t finished.”

“When it is?”

Harry always wanted to read his work, ever since he found out Draco liked to write back in eighth year. And he was always patient about it. 

“When it’s finished, I’ll read it to you,” he replied cryptically before patting Harry on the shoulder as he moved to pass him. But Harry's arm shot out, snaking around his waist and pulling him close and Draco laughed into his face. "You're in a mood!" 

"Yep," Harry grinned. "I'm in the mood for a kiss," he murmured, closing the distance between them, and Draco laughed again, leaning back. 

"Oh no, not with that sap. You'll get it all over me."

"Oh yes, come here!" Reaching forward, he closed a hand over the back of Draco's head and pulled it against his face, rubbing their cheeks together while Draco howled. 

"No! Stop it! Potter! I'll destroy you!" But he was laughing, twisting his body this way and that, hell bent on escape.

"You won't destroy me!" Harry proclaimed. "You love me."

Draco flushed and shoved at his shoulders. "Says who? Release me, you oaf!" 

"Never!" So saying, he bent and swung Draco into his arms, carried him down the corridor and into the living room, swaying slightly as he kicked out. "I love what you've done with the place, by the way."

"Where are you taking me? Put me down!" Draco cried, his arms encircling Harry's neck when he hitched him to carry his weight more comfortably. 

Harry made a circuit around the living room, then headed back down the corridor toward the bedrooms, chattering inanely. "You know, I think you've stopped losing weight," he said thoughtfully and Draco snarled. 

"Are you calling me fat, Potter?" he asked, acid dripping from the words. 

"I wouldn't dream of it. You're gorgeous!" 

"Gods, what happened today? You're ridiculously happy."

Harry laughed and dropped Draco unceremoniously on his bed. "That's all, really. I'm just ridiculously happy."

"Well stop it. It's weird."

"It's not weird, it's wonderful!" he exclaimed, flopping down beside Draco and brushing his fingers over one cheekbone. "You're wonderful," and over his belly, "this baby is wonderful. Life is wonderful!" 

“Ugh, disgusting,” Draco laughed. His hand fell forward to rest on Harry’s chest, of its own volition. “Nothing good can come of this mood.”

“Oh, I can think of something good to do with it,” Harry argued. He grinned, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his eye, then flicked his wrist.

Draco gasped as cool air brushed along his suddenly bare skin, then laughed. “Oh, I see. You’re horny.” Rolling himself over Harry, he shot him a lascivious smirk. “I can work with that…”


	9. Chapter 8

Harry stared in awe. How, exactly, could Draco complain about these visits, he wondered. Even now, he was squirming and grunting. Harry could appreciate that it was difficult to get comfortable with something pushing your guts all out of place, not to mention sitting on your bladder, but… well, this was magical.

A lavender light glowed about his abdomen, pulsing gently as the sound of a little heartbeat filled the room, occasionally punctuated by the thud of little limbs hitting the walls of his womb. Captivated, Harry bent double in his chair to cross his arms on the bed where Draco lay, pillowing his chin as he just kept staring.

“This is amazing,” he breathed, loath to break the stillness. “Why haven’t I come to one of these before?”

“Because you have a painting to finish,” Draco replied in monotone as he flipped through the pages of  _ Witch Weekly _ . 

It was an old edition, though Harry wasn’t surprised it was still in stock; his own face winked up at him from the front cover where glossy, bold printing announced “Harry Potter’s First Art Show!” and asked, in smaller print “The Boy Who Lived, An Artist?”

“I still would have come,” he argued petulantly. "Have you thought of any names yet? Everyone is going to ask today."

"I'm working on it. I've looked through the book of names Hermione gave me a few hundred times, but nothing seems right."

"That's because wizards have strange names," Harry sniggered. 

"We do not. Wizarding names are perfectly adequate, it just needs to be the right name. Mother suggests I name him after a star. You know, follow the Black family tradition."

Harry thought of Sirius and smiled fondly. "I like that. You could call him Leo."

Draco slapped the magazine closed and tossed it aside. "I absolutely could not," he snapped. "What are you thinking?" 

Chuckling, Harry shook his head. "Then how about Ares?"

"Harry, there are more stars in the sky than those in the western zodiac. What about Pyxis? Or Ophiuchus?" 

Harry cringed. "Those sound so…" 

"Regal? Ethereal?" 

"Snobbish."

Draco laughed, tossing his head back with it. "Perhaps. I'm still trying to decide."

"Okay, but please, don't saddle him with Ophidious."

"It's Ophiuchus," he smirked. "And I can't make any promises."

"You're a monster."

"And you're a heathen," Draco shot back, crossing his arms, and Harry laughed. 

"Fine, but don't come crying to me when the other kids make fun of his name." 

"They wouldn't dare. Not with names like…" But Draco frowned, pulling a bark of laughter from Harry. "Fine, not Ophiuchus."

"Good."

"Fuck off."

"No." Still laughing, Harry took his hand and squeezed. "What are you most excited for, at the shower?" 

"Who says I'm excited?" 

"I do. Is it the games? The food?" Here, Draco grimaced. They'd tried to schedule the baby shower around his general nausea calendar, but there was still a chance he wouldn't be able to keep his food down. "I know! The gifts!" 

Now he perked up, his eyes brightened. "Yes, I am rather looking forward to those. Particularly mine."

Harry felt something soft squish inside him, felt his smile go lopsided. "You got the baby a present?" he asked, melting just a little. 

"Of course I did," Draco scoffed.

Harry opened his mouth to ask what it was when the healer came in to end the monitoring spell. She cast another spell that gave her a readout of the test and smiled brightly. 

"Everything looks great! You can get dressed and go. Just remember to follow up with your healer."

"Thank you," Draco said, already half out of the bed with an exaggerated groan. "Come on, Harry. Let's get this over with."

-

Draco cast his eyes around nervously as he stepped into the Burrow. He could still remember Hermione's baby shower, all the people and games. Contrary to what he'd told Harry, he was a bit excited, just apprehensive with it. There were just so many Weasleys. In the last several years, he'd forged decent friendships with most of them, but as a whole, they were a bit terrifying. 

He wasn't even through the door before the horde descended. 

"Hey preggers," Ginevra called while George thumped him on the back exuberantly, and several other Weasleys rushed forward to congratulate him. She shoved one brother out of the way to hand Draco and Harry each a diaper pin, pointing to the one already pinned to her shirt. “One of the games! Don’t say the B word. If you do, you have to give up your pin.”

“B word?” Draco asked, glancing at Harry. He smirked and mouthed the word “baby.”

"Alright, that's enough!" a female voice called above the others, and Draco sighed with relief to see Pansy parting the sea of redheads. "Give the man some air; everyone will have time to offer their condolences, don't you worry. Hello darling."

"Thanks Pans," Draco murmured, kissing her cheek and linking their fingers together. Harry was a decent enough shield during Molly's monthly family dinners, but Pansy was clearly better suited for the position in this case. 

"Come, sit. Mrs Weasley is almost finished with the food—there is a metric tonne of it, I swear—then we can get started."

"What would I do without you?" 

"Oh, you'd be dead of overenthusiastic greetings, of course. Come look at your gifts!" 

He was distracted from the thought upon stepping into the sitting room where the party was to be, though. The entire room was decorated, apparently, to a theme. Streamers ran along the ceiling, curling down the walls alongside banners of red and gold, green and silver, with hundreds of balloons in the same palette. Beside him, Harry gasped and Draco turned to face him. 

"You didn't tell them you aren't th—" 

"Of course I did, Draco!" he hissed, sidling past him to deposit the long box he'd brought along onto the pile of gifts. "Where's Ron? Never mind, I'll go talk to Molly again."

"Harry!" Hermione called, wading into the room. "Draco! I'm so sorry. We talked to Molly when we got here, but she refused to change the colours. She said they matched the cupcakes or something."

Draco rolled his eyes and left them to discuss it, taking his seat—the one beside the pile of gifts that was decorated with an ungodly amount of ribbon and confetti in the shape of baby bottles and rattles. The room was overflowing with people, half of them holding infants of their own, all smiling and chattering away. Angelina wandered over at one point, Roxanne clinging to her shoulder as she surveyed the room, as well.

“Have you thought of a name for the baby?” she asked, and Draco nearly called her out on it before he saw that she already wasn’t wearing a diaper pin.

“I’m still thinking about it, but I have a few I’m fond of…”

They chatted for a while before Fred the Second stole her attention. Others came as well, and left in a similar manner. When Molly announced the food was ready, Draco sent Harry to get him a cupcake, determined to eat it. Whatever else he’d ever thought of the Weasleys, Molly was one hell of a cook.

It wasn’t long after that the festivities began. Mostly, Draco watched on and nibbled at his treat. Harry had chosen well, opting to bring him one with a silver chocolate snake nestled in green icing. The first thing they did, once everyone was seated with a plate of finger food, was pull out a lovely, deep blue bag with pockets everywhere. It looked posh but practical and Draco found himself curious to see what was inside.

“This,” Hermione said, taking the bag from Ginevra and holding it aloft, “is the nappie bag! Inside, there are a handful of essentials for Draco and the little one, but no one knows what they are! We’re going to pass the bag around and I want each of you to rummage around inside  _ without looking! _ Take a guess at what each item might be. You’ll have two minutes to make your guess and write it down on a scrap of parchment. The one who gets the closest wins!” 

Half of the room groaned and Percy Weasley, seated to Draco’s right, leaned closer to explain that each shower had its own set of games so that no one got too good at any particular one. Draco nodded, but the small smile he offered froze in place before sagging when someone shouted out that they were sure they felt a dummy in the bag. Gods, the contents of that bag were going to be filthy before the game was over.

The disgust he felt was nothing compared to what bloomed when it was announced that the bag and its contents were for Draco to take home and actually  _ use. _

“We’ll be cleaning those thoroughly, thank you,” he assured Hermione as she passed him the bag.

“That’s wise. You may want to wash up the bottles after the next one, too,” she laughed before calling the room to attention for the next game.

-

Harry laughed along with everyone else as the games progressed. When they came to “guess mummy’s measurements,” though, he cringed. Draco would hate this one, he knew, and it was confirmed by the look of horror that passed over his face before he explicitly refused to play.

“Harry promised me no touching!” he insisted.

“That’s more information than we needed, Draco,” Charlie called out to rounds of raucous laughter while Draco rapidly turned bright red. 

He conceded the point, after that, but Harry knew better than to choose a length of yarn, himself.

Fleur won the game and it was finally time for gifts. Harry watched on with a ridiculous, unearned sense of pride as Draco opened stuffie after stuffie, each a different magical creature. Bill supplied a wolf, Charlie a dragon, and Greg an oddly adorable bowtruckle with a permanent bend in his arm, so he was always waving. There was also a hippogriff, a grindylow, and two different garden gnomes. The rest of the gifts were chosen based on need. Bottles, bibs, dummies, a pram, and stacks and stacks of nappies. 

The guests milled about, coming and going throughout the gift-opening, children running to and fro, but Draco didn’t seem to mind. There was still enough of a crowd to ooh and ahh at every gift. After he opened the last gift, a food processor from Hermione—Harry promised to show him how it worked at home—everyone cheered and Draco held up his hands to quiet them.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Wait, there’s one more gift.” Confusion met his words, but Draco pressed on. “Could we maybe gather all of the children round? This requires a bit of an audience.”

He was flushing again but seemed confident enough, so Harry didn’t try to help, just sat back to wait. He was quite eager to see this last gift, himself.

When all of the children were present and accounted for, Draco withdrew a scroll from the sleeve of his robes, a wry smile on his lips. “Alright children,” he began, pausing to give them a moment to settle. “This is a very special gift for my son, but I need your help. I need you to tell me if you think he’ll like it. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure, Uncle Draco!” Teddy piped up, hand stretched into the air as if waiting to be called upon.

“But of course,” Victoire replied, then snapped her fingers under her little sister’s nose to focus her attention.

A chorus sounded from the rest of the children, every one of them excited to be included in the day’s events.

“Good,” Draco said, nodding curtly. “Then let’s get started, shall we?” He unrolled the scroll and glanced around the room. Harry leaned forward as a hush fell and Draco began reading. “Once upon a time…”

_ In the deepest depths of the darkest forest, there lived a wolf pup. The pup was… well, ordinary. He wasn't short or tall, he wasn't fast or slow. He wasn't spotted or striped, but neither did he have the rich, full coats of his brothers.  _

_ Now, you're probably thinking something extraordinary happens in this story, but no. Everything was perfectly ordinary. An ordinary day in the ordinary darkness. An ordinary walk through an ordinary brush. Ordinary birds, ordinary insects, ordinary animals; all ordinarily quiet.  _

_ Ordinarily, the little wolf would keep his nose to the ground, his eyes focused on the next foot of trail ahead of him.  _

_ So that's what he did.  _

_ He passed a decrepit log, then a murky pond, its surface rippling with the willow branches that swayed in the scum. He passed a dark hollow, then a foggy thicket, where he nearly walked through an enormous spider web.  _

_ He dodged it, of course.  _

_ Because everything about this forest and this pup was ordinary, he didn't see the magnificent hawk soaring overhead. Nor did he hear the roaring of a waterfall to his left. He followed the trail his father had marked, just as he ordinarily did.  _

_ He heard the strange twittering of unusual birds as they staggered into his path, but he was prepared. While they were distracted, their bright, smooth feathers trailing some distance above their hard, rounded feet, he scampered into the nearby brush to wait for them to leave.  _

_ This was all perfectly ordinary, you see, except… The birds didn't leave. They moved closer, chattering, squealing: _

_ “Oh! Look at the pretty flowers!”  _

_ The closest reached out above the pup's head and pulled a blossom from his hiding place. He crouched further down. Her yellow wings brushed by his nose and he pulled his nose up to avoid the smokey scent.  _

_ That's when something odd happened. Not extraordinary, mind you, simply odd. Another scent filled his nose. One he'd ignored all his short life. Glancing up, he saw what held the birds’ attention.  _

_ Flowers. Hundreds of them. He looked around the path he'd followed to find it lined with the same vibrant colours and sweet smells. How had he gone so long without noticing them?  _

_ Forgetting the strange birds, he left his cover behind and raced back the way he'd come, determined never to ignore such beauty again. Choosing, instead, a new ordinary.  _

Applause roared as every person in the house, who had all stopped to listen, showed their approval with cheers and wolf-whistles. Draco was red again, but smiling with it.


	10. Chapter 9

“Ow, shit!” Harry swore, dropping the wrench and bringing his thumb to his mouth. 

“How’s it going?” Draco asked from the doorway, where he stood with two cups of tea.

“This thing is a bloody nightmare! Whose idea was it to build a cot when there are people who build for a living? Cheers,” he said, accepting the cup Draco offered.

“I think it was Arthur. You don’t have to build it now, we’re still weeks away from him actually needing it.” Climbing onto his bed, he dropped to sit cross-legged in its centre to watch. “There isn’t even room for it, yet.”

“We’ll make room. I want everything to be ready. Which means you need to stop faffing about and move your stuff into my room so we can put the ungodly amount of stuffies in here," Harry said, aiming a finger accusingly his way. 

"That's easier said than done, Potter. I've lived in this room for seven years now, I have quite a lot of  _ stuff.  _ Not to mention I've been a bit busy. Between vomiting, constipation, and healer visits, I've also been looking for a publisher, since my usual doesn't deal in children's books."

Harry's face lit with excitement. "You're going to have it published? That's great, Draco!" 

"Yes, well, it takes a lot of work. I still need to discuss the illustrations with you. I've a few ideas, but I want to make sure they work with your style."

"You—you want me to illustrate it?" Harry asked, peering up at him from where he crouched on the floor. 

Draco cocked his head in confusion before he realised he hadn't actually asked Harry to illustrate the book, yet. "If you want to, of course! I know you're busy with your own work, I just assumed—" 

"Of course I want to do it, Draco, Jesus!" Surging to his feet, he crossed to Draco and bent to kiss him, lingering over it. "But you still have to finish moving into the other room."

Draco sighed, then turned to face his closet as Harry got back to work building the cot. Digging out his trunk was the first hurdle but, once he'd managed it, it was easy enough to summon his clothes and shrink them down. They worked that way throughout the afternoon and into the evening, not saying much but content in one another’s company. It was the reason they decided to lease an office space together for their vastly different art; they could work side by side on different projects without stepping on each other’s toes, without distracting each other. 

When night had well and truly fallen, Harry rose and stretched out his cramped muscles, the sounds of his relief drawing Draco to him. “You done?” he asked, closing his trunk on the last load of his belongings.

“Yep,” Harry grinned, gesturing to the wooden cot that stood in the space Draco’s mirror used to occupy.

It was a gorgeous piece, Arthur had chosen well. Draco beamed and leaned against Harry, laying his head on one broad shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

“Almost,” Harry said, then turned to face the bed still in the centre of the room. “Help me with this, will you? I think it would make a lovely rocker.”

Draco laughed at the idea. Not that it was a bad one, of course. It wasn’t like he needed the bed anymore; he rarely slept in it, as it was. Rolling up his sleeves, he rubbed his palms together. "Alright, any particular style in mind?" 

Together, they transfigured the bed, each adding details here and there until a squat, over-stuffed armchair in a lovely cream colour sat in one corner of the room. 

"Well, it's not a rocker," Harry said, standing back to survey their work. 

"No, but it's perfect." Draco could already imagine sitting there with the baby, feeding him, singing to him, reading to him. His eyes misted, so he turned away to smile at Harry. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and brought the other hand up to place it over his, on his belly. "It is," he assured him. "Come on, I want to show you something."

-

It was dark when they entered the studio, so Harry flicked his wrist to cast the sunlight spell he favoured, flinching in the sudden brightness. 

"Over here," he said, gesturing to the row of paintings propped against one wall and covered with protective cloth. "Are you ready?" 

Draco nodded and Harry drew back the cloth with a flourish, exposing his work, then stepped back. He watched, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Draco approached the paintings, a look of wonder on his face. Shaking his head, he walked toward the farthest from Harry and stood before it. He studied it for a bit, then moved to the next, and the next, until he stood before the last, a smaller canvas.

Harry remembered that morning; laying there watching Draco sleep before the urge to sketch him had taken over and he’d slipped out of bed to find a sketchbook. He laid stretched out on his side across Harry’s bed, his hair a mess, arms folded to pillow his head. A sheet was draped over him, obscuring half of his body and framing the swell of his exposed belly.

He was gorgeous, Harry thought, and his painting didn’t do him justice. But, when Draco looked up at him, tears were shining in his eyes.

“You did paint me,” he said, voice watery. “Do I really look like that? You made me beautiful…”

“Of course you’re beautiful. You know you are.”

“But I’m fat, an-and I have circles under my eyes, and my skin is—I look sickly!” 

Harry laughed, sliding his arms around Draco’s waist. “You do  _ not _ look sickly. You’re glowing.”

“But I am fat?” Draco sniffed, leaning into the embrace.

“No!” Harry cried. “You’re pregnant! And you’re too skinny to be fat.”

He laughed, swatting Harry’s shoulder. “Good answer.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry grasped his shoulders, pulling him back just far enough to see his face, and pressed a kiss to his lips, then did it again. “You are beautiful. And talented, and clever, and bloody amazing,” he said between kisses. "And I love you."

"You what?" 

Without warning, he released Draco completely, digging into his pocket as he knelt before him. 

"Will you marry me, Draco?" he asked, lifting the little box and waiting nervously. 

Draco stared, his jaw slackened, his eyes wide. "Harry, I… Are you mad? I can't marry you!" Ripping his eyes away from the ring, he searched Harry's. "I'm about to have a baby!" 

"Yeah, you are. What does that have to do with—" 

"Are you kidding me? A baby, Potter! Another life, a child! My life is about to change forever and you think you want in on that mess?" 

"I don't think, Draco, I know." Scowling, Harry stood. "I love you—" 

"Stop saying that!" 

"And I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he finished, louder. "And your son."

Draco shook his head, a panicked gleam in his eyes. "Harry, think about what you're saying. You want to raise a child? With me?" 

"I want to raise several children with you, actually."

"Oh, you do?" he scoffed, crossing his arms. "And what makes you think I want to go through all of this again?" 

"Then I'll carry them," Harry smirked. "But they will be your children. I'm very adamant about that."

"You're bloody insane, is what you are!" 

"Say yes."

"No!"

"Do you love me?" Harry asked, sure he already knew the answer. 

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. Love isn't enough of a reason to saddle you with someone else's child."

"He's not someone else's. He's yours. And I love him, just as much as I love you." Sighing, he draped his arms over Draco's shoulders, pressed himself close. "Marry me, Draco? Please?"

"Harry, I-I want to, I do! But—" 

"No arguments, Malfoy. Just say yes."

Draco whimpered, stamping his foot petulantly. "Fine."

"Really?" 

"Yes, Potter. But I don't want to hear a word about changing Scorpius' nappies! If you're in, you're all in."

"Scorpius? If I'm all in, don't I get a say in naming him?" 

Draco glared at him. "But of course. What do you think we should name him?" he asked icily. 

Harry affected a thoughtful look, his eyes losing focus as he stared into the middle distance before he snapped them back to Draco. "How about… Scorpius?" he asked, biting back a laugh. 

"Good choice, Potter."

-

Later, long into the night, Draco stared at Harry, watching him sleep and thinking of what he'd agreed to. He glanced at the ring on his finger for the umpteenth time, almost afraid it would vanish. But it was always there, just like Harry. 

He'd been afraid when he discovered he was pregnant, but that feeling was gone. In its place was a warmth, bright and eager to begin the next chapter of his life. Clinging tight to that feeling, he let himself rest, let sleep come. Before he knew it, sleep would be a distant memory, after all. 


	11. Epilogue

The atmosphere in the room was calm, controlled. Exactly the opposite of what Harry had expected it would be. He sat beside the bed where Draco lay, facing a curtain that blocked off the healers and their instruments. They spoke to one another in low tones so Harry couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, though he knew perfectly well what they were doing.

A cesarean section. 

He didn’t want to think about it, not in any detail. All he knew was that the baby, Scorpius, hadn’t turned like he was supposed to in preparation for birth. They’d given him a potion nearly an hour before, so Draco was numb from the waist down. He kept poking at his sides, experimentally.

“This is so bizarre,” he said for what must have been the hundredth time. 

“Yes, I imagine,” Harry agreed, reaching out to take his hand and cease the nervous movement. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised.

“Of course it is,” Draco scoffed. “They’re just going to cut me open and pull a baby from my magically grown womb. What’s to worry about?” His voice rose several octaves by the time he was done, his hand vibrating with anxiety. “Merlin, why can’t I be anaesthetised?”

“Because it isn’t necessary,” Harry assured him. “They’ll be done any minute, then you’ll have Scorpius and everything will be fine.”

“You don’t know that, Potter,” Draco hissed, crushing his hand in a death grip. “It could take hours. There could still be complications. You never know what could—”

A cry rang throughout the room, originating from the other side of the cloth and Draco froze, squeezing impossibly harder. Harry hardly dared to breathe, eyes fixed on the edge of the curtain, waiting. Within moments, a nurse was walking slowly around the cloth, a bundle of blankets wrapped in his arms and a beatific smile across his face. 

"Here he is," he announced and passed the bundle to Draco, who released Harry's hand to accept it. 

"Oh gods," Draco mumbled. "I can't look. Harry!" 

Harry shifted from his chair to the edge of Draco's hospital bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and touching the other hand lightly to his cheek. 

"Look at your son, baby. He's healthy and he's going to be happy. And so will you."

Taking a deep breath as tears began to fall, Draco nodded, looked down into the blankets, and sobbed. Harry followed suit, gazing at the perfect little life in Draco's arms. 

He had a tuft of white-blond hair, pale eyebrows, and a red flush colouring his pale skin. His little mouth opened in an enormous wail, his fists waving madly. 

Still crying, Draco brought the baby to his face, pressed their foreheads together. "Oh, Scorpius. You're perfect," he told him. 

Healer McCrae rounded the curtain then, smiling broadly. "Welcome to the world, little one," he greeted the baby. "Have we decided on a name, gentlemen?" 

"Scorpius," Draco replied. "Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please show the author your appreciation in a comment and by leaving kudos below. ♥
> 
> This story is part of the on-going and anonymous H/D Mpreg fest. The author will be revealed June 21st.


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